Anything helps
by ZWTFmate
Summary: He considers himself less of a hopeless case, or a sad aspect of society, (like those who have secure lives do),but more of an observer of the world, an outside view of the inside. And Bofur likes it that way. When someone from the inside finds their way into his outside, however, Bofur finds that he might like that too. Modern!AU


He strums the guitar absentmindedly. It's not his first instrument, and he's only adequate at it, but it's something to do. He starts to hum, quietly, like if he's as soft as he can be no one will notice him. Which deters the point of the cardboard sign next to him that has "Anything helps; God Bless" on it. But he doesn't mind; if people are too busy in their own little worlds to pay attention to a one homeless man on the side of the street, who is Bofur to judge? He was there, once, wrapped up in whos and whats and hows, but not anymore; Now there's no need.

He's brought back to the situation by the sound of footsteps stopping in front of him. His eyes are closed, and he doesn't feel the need to open them. If whoever it is wants his attention, they'll say so. Probably a police man wanting him to move, or another rambler hoping to bum off what meager change he's collected. _There's no rush_, he thinks idly to himself, _take your time._

"Not very good at that thing, are you?"

Bofur stops strumming. Doesn't sound like a cop, not enough authoritative force in the words. Not a hobo either, or else a freshly freed one; there was no rasp of wandering about and begging to it. So a civilian._ Interesting_. He allows his eyes to slide open and look up.

In front of him stands a boy, couldn't be more than just starting his mid-twenties, with hair like gold and some expensive-looking jeans on. Handsome face, with a sharp little half-smile on his lips. Bofur keeps quiet a moment, just admiring the view, starting to strum again.

"And I suppose you're some kind of expert, lad?"

The boy snorted slightly. "Not exactly. But it can't be much different than a fiddle, which I consider myself pretty fair at."

Bofur hummed, playing one of the few tunes he actually knows. "Well, can't argue with that. Never been too good at strings m'self. Flute was always what suited me best. But the last one I had snapped in half, and I could get for it was this. It was a nice flute too."

The boy nods silently, and the conversation falls flat. But still the boy hasn't moved on his way; if anything he seems more fascinated than before. Bofur keeps a straight face, just keeps strumming.

"I see you here all the time." The boy says, almost out of nowhere. "You don't beg or play loud enough to get attention. You just sit there, playing badly, then get up at around the same time and wander away. Do you even try to get money?"

A civilian curious about him? That's gotta be a first. Still, Bofur hides how his interest is piqued and shrugs one shoulder. "It's neither here nor there. If I have enough for a meal and a beer, I'm happy. Not that you would know 'bout that." It wasn't said with ill-intent, but the boy still looks away and shuffles his designer shoes. Bofur decides to change tactics. "So you've been watching me?"

The blond shifts, not quite red enough to be embarrassed, but enough to look comical. "Not like _that_. My Uncle owns the business across the street." He motions to the building which could be anything from a publishing company to a law firm. "I work there, on the second floor. Mostly handing out coffee when people get cranky." He chuckles and Bofur likes the sound. "I get a good view of the street, so."

Bofur smiles, finally setting down the guitar next to him. "Well then. I guess that makes us neighbors."

The boy mirrors his expression, and _my_ what a handsome face he had. "yeh, I guess so."

Bofur nods, deciding that he likes this kid, who stepped out of his place in the world to talk to a grubby old man on the sidewalk. After trying to clean his hands best he could (there was always a layer of grime no matter what he did), he holds one up. "I'm Bofur." He says, and is pleased that the kid doesn't even hesitate to grab his hand and shake.

"Fili."

Bofur rolls the name around in his head and decides it's a good name. Fili has a firm, strong grip like he's been meeting people in this manner all his life. Their hands linger no more then they should, but when he pulls his back he finds a crumpled fifty note in his palm. He glances up with a raised brow to which Fili shrugs.

"In case you feel like getting a case of beer tonight." He says, flashing a grin full of teeth. There's a beeping from his pocket, and he pulls out a sleek-looking phone that Bofur's sure he would never learn how to use. "Ah. Gotta go." Fili taps on the screen, then slips the phone back into his expensive jeans. He looks over Bofur once more and his mouth quirks. "But it was nice to finally meet you." Then just like that, he's disappeared into the crowd, nothing but a flash of gold moving down the street.

Bofur follows the movement best he could without getting up, and feels just a touch lighter than before. It suddenly dawns on him how long it has been since someone, anyone, has actually talked to him. Weeks, maybe even months. Not that Bofur doesn't mind being on the sidelines watching others move about with there lives, but to be noticed again, after so long, well, it's _nice_.

Bofur grins, staring down at the bill in his hand. "yeh," he mutters, flattening it out and setting it in his guitar case. "You too."

**AAAAAAAAAAA**

**I don't know where I'm going with this or if I'm going to continue, but it was such a nice stress-reliever while trying to unplug my writer's block!**


End file.
